


Try

by mixgoldenphoenix



Series: Try Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1716953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixgoldenphoenix/pseuds/mixgoldenphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gadreel’s prison is opened, and he escapes…only to fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt I filled out on Tumblr for user shipsallshipshoweverimprobable. I decided I wanted to make a little 'verse of it, so. Here it is.

Gadreel did not remember waking up. One moment he was on fire, as his Grace ignited within him and forced itself out of his body in a concentrated blast, and then…  
  
He was face down on something solid, he knew that much. Dust rattled in his lungs. The pain he felt was more prominent in the areas he had cut and stabbed himself, but there was also a tingling pain all throughout his body. A pain that made him feel heavy, as if his body was afraid to move. It was that pain—that _buzzing_ pain—that had dragged him back to consciousness.  
  
So. He was not dead. He could not even do that right.

He opened his eyes slowly, a throbbing pain behind them causing him to squint. He coughed lightly on the dust he could see still settling in the room, cringing at the pain that caused him. Right. The explosion. If he was not dead, did that mean he, also, had not succeeded in freeing Castiel?  
  
A muted form of panic raced through his veins. No. He had to have succeeded in that, if that alone. Ignoring the heaviness in his limbs, the silent warning his body gave to him, Gadreel moved. First his fingers, then his hands, his arms, his legs, and soon, he had shakily brought himself to his hands and knees.  
  
The bench. He had been laying on the bench away from the bars. Only a small amount of his Vessel’s blood marred the stone beneath him. He would have expected more. No matter.  
  
It hurt to turn his head, but he had to. He was relieved to see that his cell’s door had been blown open. Hannah was nowhere in sight. Neither was Castiel. Good. He hoped they would stop Metatron. He had to be stopped. Humanity had to be saved.  
  
But what about him? What was left of him now?  
  
…He had to get out. He could not let them find him. He could not risk it. Cells still existed that they could trap him in, and if Hannah _had not_ taken Castiel with her to stop Metatron, then… No.  
  
His body trembled with the effort to bring himself to his feet, muscles weak and agonized. Yet, he fought his weakness. He stumbled out of his destroyed cell and back the way they had come—back towards the Gate. He fell into the door leading into the office space that lay between him and his goal, his hands blindly scrambling for the handle. When they found their mark, he paused.  
  
What of the others? The angels that acted as secretaries and informants. Knowledge gatherers for Metatron. What if they saw him? Would they let him pass? Probably not, he thought bitterly. He had allied himself with Castiel, after all. However… some of those angels had _been_ Castiel’s. Maybe…  
  
No. It did not matter. If he succeeded in escaping, he succeeded. If he did not, well… He would never know unless he tried, and his strength was fading quickly. Black dots were swimming across his vision more than he would like; his breathing was labored. He could not seem to get his Vessel under control. He had to act, and act now.  
  
He turned the knob to open the door and practically fell through the doorway instead of stepping through it, as he’d intended. He steadied himself briefly and glanced around. No one was there. The office was empty. Small miracles.  
  
The journey to the Gate was amazingly harrowing for such a small amount of distance. Each step only increased his pain, shocks running through him. Each deep breath he tried to drag into his lungs aggravated his wounds. He tried not to let it best him. He fell, at one point, desperately clawing at the desk beside him so he would not go all the way down. He knew, if that happened, he would not be able to get back up.  
  
Even still, he could not bring himself back to his feet. To hell with his dignity, he would crawl to his freedom. And he did. He crawled on hands and knees to the elevator that would bring him back to Earth—out of Heaven and away from his siblings. It opened for him easily and he collapsed inside. He only allowed himself to feel any form of relief when the light of the portal enveloped him to usher him along his way.  
  
The arrival onto Earth was a lot more jarring than he remembered it. Which was surprising because he wasn’t even moving when he ‘landed.’ However, he still felt the jolt. The pain and sudden rush of adrenaline gave him the strength he needed to half crawl, half roll out of the sandbox that served as the Gate’s entrance. He hit the ground on the other side with a winded grunt.  
  
It was dark. Night. The stars above him dim, thanks to the light pollution given off by the nearby city. He belatedly remembered the Gatekeeper stationed to guard the Entrance, but he could not muster the strength to care. Soon, he could not even muster the strength to stay awake.

* * *

When Gadreel awoke next, he recognized the bland white walls that surrounded him and the strong scent of disinfectant. He was in a hospital. Flicking his eyes to his right arm, he observed the needle that was pressed into his flesh at the crook of his arm. He followed the line of hose that led to the bags of fluid that dripped ever so slowly into his body. He frowned minutely. Why did he need fluids? His Grace must have been far more depleted than he thought if it had yet to heal enough to be able to heal him.  
  
He next observed himself. He was bandaged around his chest with what appeared to be gauze and sterile wrappings. He touched said bandages gently. Only a faint twinge of pain spread out across his chest as his fingers pressed against the sensitive skin underneath. The other, buzzing pain that had wracked his body was gone. He wondered if the fluids dripping down his… _IV_ …included some human pain killers. He was surprised they were affecting him so easily.  
  
Small, sticky pads clung to various areas of his torso, the cables leading to the monitor that beeped with his heartbeat. The noise was grating, not on his ears but on his nerves.  
  
His pants had been replaced by some that were more comfortable and fitting for a healing facility. His feet were bare. He frowned at this. He felt exposed without the layers his Vessel had been used to wearing. A sweep of the room failed to show his Vessel’s clothes. He hoped the hospital had not thrown them out. They were not his to get rid of.  
  
Any further investigation of his surroundings was halted when a woman entered the room. Gadreel turned to face her. She was a nurse, going by her apparel. She seemed mildly surprised to find him awake, but she smiled quickly.  
  
“Well, hello there,” she greeted him jovially, walking over to the beeping machine. “We were waiting for you to wake up.”  
  
He watched her press some buttons on the device. He dreaded to ask, but he did.  
  
“Why?”  
  
She frowned briefly. A somewhat amused frown. As if his question made no sense to her and she found that funny.  
  
“Well, you were found in a playground in the middle of the night with cult symbols carved into your chest. The whole staff’s talking about you.”  
  
Gadreel finally gained an appreciation of the phrase ‘blood running cold.’  
  
“Police, too. They want to talk to you. Do you remember what happened?”  
  
He felt his anger rise. Even with this nurse smiling expectantly at him, even with her taking care of him, he felt an unusual rage towards her. He clenched his jaw to keep from snapping at the woman. He tried to tell himself she was just doing her job and that humans had always been curious creatures.  
  
“I will not be the object of your amusement and gossip,” he spoke firmly. The smile faltered on the woman’s face and he continued, “If your authorities wish to speak to me, I _will_ speak to them. But only them. Not you or any of your ‘staff.’”  
  
“That won’t be necessary.” A voice spoke from the doorway.  
  
The face was familiar, he noted. Tanned skin, dark eyes, and long dark hair. This woman appeared to be wearing a doctor’s attire. Where had he seen her before? He frowned at her as he tried to place her.  
  
“You may leave,” she told the nurse. “The FBI is here to speak with the patient.”  
  
Gadreel did not like those implications. He liked less the excited glint that shone in the nurse’s eyes. She nodded her assent to the doctor and walked past her, back into the hallway. The doctor remained at the doorway and stared intently at him. Her face was amazingly blank. Gadreel found it difficult to read her. Odd.  
  
“Who are you?” He asked, confusion lacing his voice. “I know you, but…”  
  
The doctor smirked. “You can’t see me?”  
  
He tilted his head slightly, “I do not understand. I can see you just fine.”  
  
The smirk only grew. “No. You can’t. Don’t worry. That’ll all be squared away soon. You have a visitor. He’s been waiting for news of your recovery.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
For a moment, he was worried. He wondered if the Winchesters had found him. Again. They almost always chose the FBI to impersonate. They had tracked him down once before. What if Castiel _had_ failed to stop Metatron? What if— What if Sam had come to finish him off for failing his brother, along with all his other sins? The beeping of the monitor sped up. He tried to calm himself to mask his fear from whomever he was intended to meet.  
  
The doctor did not answer him. She merely walked back into the hallway. Gadreel saw a brief flash of tan pass the windows, a very familiar color, before Castiel entered the room.  
  
Gadreel’s fear abated upon meeting the eyes of his brother. There was a small smile on Castiel’s face. As if he were pleased to see him. The affection, no matter how small, was enough to improve Gadreel’s mood. It was nice to feel welcomed again. Rather than scorned. …It was nice to feel that someone cared, no matter the reason.  
  
“Castiel,” Gadreel greeted, pushing himself further up the back of the slightly raised bed.  
  
“Hello, Gadreel,” Castiel returned.  
  
The other angel looked behind him, nodded to the doctor, and then closed the door to the room gently. With no risk of being overheard, Gadreel voiced his concerns.  
  
“Were you successful in stopping Metatron, brother?”  
  
The intake of breath from Castiel was not a good sign. He turned to face Gadreel. His expression was haunted. No, that most definitely was not a good sign.  
  
“We failed?” Gadreel nearly whispered. The foreign feeling of warmth—tears—forming behind his Vessel’s eyes.  
  
He had cried before, of course. Thousands of years of torture, and cries were bound to come out. But he had never experienced such a phenomenon in a Vessel before. It was strange, but he could not focus on that. The age-old feelings of failure and remorse overpowered the sensation.  
  
“No!” Castiel spoke quickly, bringing his eyes up from the floor to meet Gadreel’s. “At least, not concerning his plans for humanity.”  
  
Relief washed through him. Then dread. Something had caused Castiel pain.  
  
“Then what is wrong?”  
  
Castiel took a deep breath. He was steadying himself. Looking around the room, he spied the chair in the corner near the opposite wall. He walked to it and sat down stiffly. Clasping his hands in front of him, he looked up at Gadreel.  
  
“I couldn’t save Dean.”  
  
Oh. _Oh._ Gadreel was not ignorant in this matter. He knew that Castiel and Sam’s goal had been, ultimately, to save Dean.  
  
“I am sorry, brother,” he said sincerely.  
  
“Not as much as I am,” Castiel muttered.  
  
His brother looked away from him for a moment, to gather himself, before he faced him once again. He smiled, despite his turmoil.  
  
“But enough about me. What about you? How are you doing?”  
  
“Your concern is touching, Castiel, but I am fine.”  
  
“Are you?”  
  
Gadreel frowned.  
  
Castiel sighed gently, “We thought you were dead. Hannah and I.”  
  
“That makes three of us,” he replied sorely.  
  
Castiel frowned, “I’m sure that _is_ what you intended to happen, Gadreel. And I wish you never had to feel like you were backed into that corner. But that’s not what I meant. We read no Grace coming from you. We thought you dead, and we went to stop Metatron. We did.”

Castiel smiled and raised his eyebrows once, “I broke the Angel Tablet. Metatron announced to all the angels just how untrustworthy he was. We put him in the prison he placed us in. The prison you spent most of your life in. I thought it a fitting punishment without blood shed.  
  
“But…you were gone. I thought someone had moved your body. However, when I asked around, it was clear no one had.”  
  
“I escaped,” Gadreel admitted. “It was difficult, but I did not want to risk being captured again.”  
  
“I would imagine,” Castiel nodded once. “I’m surprised you managed it all in your condition.”  
  
He couldn’t help but smirk as he playfully asked, “You doubt my strength, Castiel? After everything I have been through?”  
  
Castiel’s eyes narrowed slightly. He leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his knees, hands still clasped in front of him. Gadreel studied him.  
  
“Gadreel,” Castiel began, “do you know who it was that spoke to you earlier? The woman in the lab coat?”  
  
He frowned, “She did seem familiar, yes. I told her as much, but she would not tell me who she was. …Why? Is it important that I remember her?”  
  
“She calls herself Flagstaff,” Castiel said slowly, wanting him to listen. To catch on. He didn’t. Castiel continued, “And her angelic name is eighteen syllables long.”  
  
Realization took a mere second to hit him. For a second time that day, his blood ran cold.  
  
He knew her. She was a sister. An angel who had worked in a hospital, on Castiel’s orders, to help humans where they could. The hospital he had found reapers such as Constantine and Tessa to aid him. …Reapers that had perished because of him. However, that was not what caused him to feel chilled. No, it was the knowledge that he had _not_ seen her. With human eyes, yes. Not with angelic eyes. He had seen no angelic presence at all. And not because _she_ was human, but…  
  
The rapid increase in his heart rate was clearly announced thanks to the heart monitor still attached to him. His hands gripped at the stiff sheets on the bed, his breath quickened. He was panicking, he realized faintly. As if the feeling was in the distance even though it affected his body so easily. His eyes left Castiel’s. They roamed his body—the pads stuck to his skin, the IV in his arm, the bandages. It all made sense now. An world-shattering sort of sense.  
  
He heard, rather than saw, Castiel push out of his chair. He flinched when he felt a foreign hand grab his. His eyes flickered to it. Castiel’s hand was warm.  
  
“Gadreel,” Castiel stressed. “Gadreel, look at me.”  
  
He did. He had assumed he could not see Castiel’s true form because of the protective warding he had placed on himself months ago. Or, perhaps, because Castiel’s Grace was so weak he read as human. But that was not the case at all, he knew, as he looked into the disturbingly blue eyes of his brother. _He_ was the human. _He_ had no Grace.  
  
“I am human?” He asked, his voice breaking once. “I have fallen? Not as Lucifer, or our brethren, but as-as…”  
  
“As I did,” Castiel spoke calmly. “Once, many years ago. When I used myself as a sort of _angel bomb_. I wasted the last of my Grace in that attack. Woke up in a hospital, like you did. I know. It’s…not pleasant.”  
  
“That is a gross understatement,” he hissed vehemently. Castiel nodded once, squeezing his hand for comfort, but it did not quell him. “I wanted to redeem myself. I wanted our kind to… They are not even _my_ kind anymore, are they? They will hate me _now_ more than ever.” He laughed once, “I didn’t think that was even possible.”  
  
He cast his eyes down, staring, unfocused, at the bed he lay on.  
  
“I was supposed to die. At least if I had died in that cell, I would have maintained some semblance of honor in their eyes. I… What is there left for me now?”  
  
The silence between them lasted no time at all. Castiel removed his hand gently from his, straightened himself, and simply announced:  
  
“Life.”  
  
Gadreel closed his eyes to try and calm himself. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. The heart monitor still read too fast for normal, but the beeps did slow a little. When he opened his eyes again, he looked to Castiel. He could not hide his distaste at his situation.  
  
“And what, pray tell, brother, do I live for? What is my purpose as a human? As an angel, I was meant to protect humanity. And now?” He questioned. Demanded.  
  
Castiel shrugged. The reaction stunned Gadreel. It was so nonchalant. So flippant. However, he could see in Castiel’s eyes that his brother was regarding him seriously.  
  
“Who says your mission has to change, Gadreel? There are humans that protect others every day. These doctors and nurses. Police officers. Firefighters. Even the soldiers… If you still want to protect them, then protect them. The only difference is, now, you also have to protect yourself.”

Then he smiled, “Well, that and you have no more powers. But that’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s not good, but… I found it manageable. Food tastes nice. Less like molecules; more the sum of its parts. Urinating sucks.”  
  
Gadreel shook his head at his brother. If he could call Castiel that still, all things considered.  
  
“You are so very strange, Castiel.”  
  
Castiel seemed amused as he replied, “So I’ve been told. But… They said the same about you.”  
  
So they had. Perhaps Castiel was right. He had been before. Maybe Gadreel could still be an angel, if not in body then in mind. Maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel, as they say, even if he could not yet see it. Humans were resilient creatures. They could live through Hell on Earth and still keep fighting. Maybe that was what he needed to do. And help others in their fights in whatever way they would allow him to.  
  
Castiel’s amusement faded into something more serious.  
  
“I’m not going lie to you Gadreel, the transition from angel to human… It’s intense. However, if you need me, or _any_ of us, we will gladly help you. If it’s one thing angels are good at remembering, it’s sacrifice. Especially if it benefits them.  
  
“I meant what I said when we were in that prison. I _do_ see you as redeemed, Gadreel. Try and give yourself the chance to redeem yourself in _your_ eyes.”  
  
The traitorous feeling of tears assaulted his eyes again. He blinked to get rid of it and nodded his assent. With a steadying breath, he said what he felt he had to. To try and make that first step towards redemption, as Castiel put it.  
  
“Thank you, brother. Do you have your phone on you?”  
  
Castiel frowned, stuck his hand in his coat pocket, and said, “Yes. Why?”  
  
“I need to call Sam Winchester, and I know you have his number.”


End file.
